Esoteric
by mimire
Summary: Somedays come and go, but Hikaru’s promised someday never shows.


**Title:** Esoteric  
**Warnings:** Edited… but still angst, overly verbose, redundant, run-on sentences, and merciless comma abuse.  
**Synopsis:** 'Someday's' come and go, but Hikaru's promised someday never shows.  
**Disclaimer: **_Hikaru no Go_ isn't mine. Lyrics are by Sting, "A Thousand Years." That fella's got a really nice voice, and the pretty kind of words that I could never write.

* * *

_A thousand times the mysteries unfold themselves  
Like galaxies in my head  
On and on the mysteries unwind themselves  
Eternities still unsaid_

* * *

Some days, Touya well and truly hates Shindou with all his being, deep resentment burning through his veins like repugnant bile laid out in the summer sun: putrid, heavy, thoroughly unwanted.

On those days he sits before his goban and plays and replays and plays again the same game until his fingers shake with exhaustion and his eyes can no longer distinguish the white from the black and, therefore, his own moves against his opponent's. Somehow, this is what he wants because that means that there no longer exists that abhorrent line, drawn in the unwavering heavy dark of charcoal, between himself and Shindou and only then can he pretend that Shindou exists and is a part of his life - parts that he cherishes and holds close to his aching heart, parts that he hates but will never forget, parts that pierce him in irreparable ways, tearing at open wounds that refuse to heal, leaving him breathless.

But some days, Touya can't help but completely love Shindou. On those days he sits before his goban and plays and replays games and suddenly stops because he can no longer see the board, not from exhaustion but despair and resents that he aches, knows that it will never stop, and begins to hate Shindou all over again.

Some days, Touya catches glimpses of Shindou in places where it never occurs to him to look: a flash of bleached yellow bangs that flutters by in the form of a cheap flyer, advertising, of all things, discounted prices on instant ramen; an eruption of raucous laughter from the construction on the side of the road; a sudden, quiet intrigue that soothes as it slips through his fingers, like a living testament to Shindou's infrequent stages of calm; a spark of righteous, defiant anger - thundering across the clouds, bursts of lightening striking against arguments in that headstrong way that refuses to acknowledge a mistake without pointing out another.

On those days, he sits before his goban but is unable to bring himself to play because he wants to see Shindou's face on the other side and knows that the only way to do so is to close his eyes and ignore the fact that Shindou refuses to play, cannot even refuse to play, that the reason behind why he places down both white and black stones is no regret of his own.

Every now and then Ogata tells him to move on, that people will forgive and heal on their own time, but Touya notes with ill-concealed spite that Ogata 10-dan regrets with the same self-loathing that Touya does. Too many unknowns even now and Shindou will never share because Shindou is a secret all of his own, one that Touya wants to place under lock and key, place in a glass case for all to see, and yet has somehow always wanted to keep him secret all to himself.

He wants to change his present the same way he wants to change the past – so Shindou never hurts and never stops playing Go, even for that one moment, spanning across centuries and centuries of despair, to heal unknown, invisible wounds. But he knows he is powerless in the face of things beyond him, knows that he must struggle to come to terms with the truth in the same way he would need to come to terms with a rivalry without a rival, a go board without the go stones, a go world without a go player, but once is enough for Touya to know that he can't live without any of it.

Even now, Touya sometimes jerks awake with thoughts of Shindou fresh on his mind, fingers curling into the feel of Shindou's skin or the feeling he thinks Shindou's skin is like and whispers into the still night air words he has never spoken aloud to anyone, not even himself.

"_I will tell you some day_," but all he gets are some days that are filled with anguish and some days with uncertainties and even other days with graying clouds or smoldering heat. And some days only contain desperate dreams because there are things beyond prolonged promises that haunt him when he lies awake or in the deepest slumber, things beyond his ability to cope and Touya refuses to concede, even if just the slightest bit.

On the occasions that Ogata bestows upon him his sagely advice - because Ogata, in a rare show of pity or mercy that does little more than insult Touya's raging pride, takes it upon himself to fill in the gaping hole in Touya's existence with meaningless words he thinks make all the difference Touya needs – Touya argues, "But he promised me," yet it isn't true because Shindou promises nothing outside a possibility. Their paths are the same, Touya knows, and if their paths are the same, Touya reasons, their destinations must also be the same, Touya hopes.

But Touya has always wanted to be before Shindou, to have Shindou come after _him_, that when he thinks of their paths and their destinations and the god of go in his lonely seat at an empty go board above the world of Go, his anger bubbles again, threatening to burst his calm exterior and he looks to Ogata and says, unwavering, "Shindou is my rival. Nothing will change that," and Ogata understands.

Yet, some days his hatred and love for Shindou collide, like meteors in Shindou's treasured universe - with the sparkling stars and distant planets and endless, unknown bounds – and, like any other day, Touya returns to the goban, deep in contemplation, with the hope that Shindou will sit before him and demand another game in the belligerent tone of voice Touya has grown to love.

"You promised me 'some day,'" Touya demands to the Shindou seated before him, wild bangs falling carelessly into his eyes - and Touya barely resists the urge to lean across and brush them aside, to look into soft gray eyes and acknowledge the life that cultivates there despite Touya's harsh words and Touya's desperate need to push and push harder so he can never be lonely at the goban ever again. He sees the obnoxious wardrobe, carelessly displaying, nearly shouting, the number five in large block print across his chest. He wants to laugh at the perfection of the visage he is able to summon before this Shindou glares, as accurately as he'd have done so were he really sitting there.

"Touya!" Annoyance, "I said I would, so stop bugging me about it!"

"_I will tell you some day_."

They both hear it as it echoes against thoughts and memories and futures unknown, endless doors closed in perpetuity, buried beneath grain and sand and root and grass, decaying as years pass, the only witnesses growing old in shape and form, and Touya regrets, and Touya hates, because Touya has always made demands at times when he should have known better.

Even so, no day, even randomly picked out of the year, ever passes without Touya placed before a Go board because there are secrets that he desires to uncover, secrets that Shindou can never answer but ones that Touya will pursue until his last breath has been expelled and even after, because even if Shindou can never tell him, he knows Waya can see it when they play, and even, occasionally, Isumi, who pauses for only a second before recognition once again flees from his expression. It is always there, an answer lingering behind dark, suede curtains that refuse to sway, and Touya strives because he knows, deep inside, that to find it means he is one step closer to Shindou and Shindou is within reach.

Matches with Waya are rare, but some days they play by chance, never for fun because Waya has never liked Touya even after all these years, even after Shindou exposes them to one another, Isumi or another as a witness, in the hopes of a 'some day' - a some day when Waya denies whatever grudge has taken hold of him and accepts Touya and Shindou's rivalry. Some days when they play, Waya jerks, as if recalling a distant memory that has long been on the tip of his mind yet stubborn in coming forth, but Touya always places his stones with an air of finality and confidence, the same as he has always done ever since he learned how, and Waya always replies with a scoff of disgust, or so it seems, and Touya attributes the jumps to slight, reluctant intimidation.

So one day, when Waya freezes completely after Touya forcefully slams his piece to the board in a position that feels oddly out of place but resonates deep within him, Touya has trouble believing he has finally frightened Waya into immobility because Waya carries too much pride to ever allow such weakness before the great Touya Akira. When Touya looks up across the go board, something he has not done since his promise and dream of forever shattered before him in a single second so many, many unforgiving years ago, Waya's expression is surprisingly subdued, fine eyebrows lax above eyes that have grown solemn with great loss and lips that thin into a line that thankfully does not resemble the hated stroke Touya always imagines between him and Shindou.

Seconds pass by, in tens then hundreds, maybe even thousands, before Waya turns his face to Touya's expectant gaze, suddenly light, as if a dark cloud has finally relinquished its spot above his aching and drenched body, understanding dawning in a manner that Touya desires, and Waya smiles brilliantly, "All this time, I thought I was imagining it. But it's true – you really do play like him."

And suddenly Touya knows. Knows the reason Waya accepts his friendship. Knows the reason Ogata continues to regret after each of their games. Knows the reason he has never thought to look elsewhere other than Go for Shindou, the reason he plays, day and night, imagining Shindou across him, the reason his fingers always itch to place the stones in familiar patterns - patterns that draw their shape across his heart and etch themselves into his mind because they have and always will be Shindou to him. Touya returns to his empty home, suddenly understanding the constant flicker of pain that strikes when he seats himself before an empty goban, strokes the lines on which he has placed countless stones in anger, in sadness, in determination, in recognition.

"This is your someday," Touya whispers to the wood as he gracefully places a stone, desperately aching to hear a reply in the sound of a human voice because in this moment the sound of everything but the quiet _pachin_ is too painful, forming knots that rub painfully within him and constrict recklessly against his rapidly beating heart. Broken words whisper past his lips as Touya clenches the stone he placed before to his chest, near his heart, because this is the one place Shindou could never escape, tightening his grip with every passing moment that he loses more and more control over the sturdy hold he places on his suffering. All this time, he has been so angry with Shindou, has wanted to hate him even despite the undeniable love that matures with time, that when he finally lets go, the tears flow unchecked, and Touya finally allows himself to grieve.

On some days, or any day, but mostly every day, Touya finds himself returning to his goban. Because now he knows that the only place that Shindou exists beyond a wooden box buried deep into the earth is on these nineteen by nineteen lines shallowly engraved into inexpensive wood and these hands that he deals in painstaking memory of every game he has ever played. Because now he knows, with the simple understanding of a man who has long since abandoned hope for absolution, that Shindou is nestled deep within his calloused fingertips and the games that they conjure: Shindou is his Go, in the games he plays. It is ever unchanging, his love for Go and his game of Go, and, ultimately, his love for Shindou.

And so some days, Touya sits before his goban, knowing that even though he will never know Shindou he will know him the best, and that the only one who will ever continue to play this game alone is the god of go.

* * *

_A thousand years, a thousand more,  
A thousand times a million doors to eternity  
I may have lived a thousand lives, a thousand times  
An endless turning stairway climbs to a tower of souls  
If it takes another thousand years, a thousand wars,  
The towers rise to numberless floors in space  
I could shed another million tears, a million breaths,  
A million names but only one truth to face_

**END **

* * *

**(Kind of shortened) Random Notes: **

I'm not really a big fan of stories in which Hikaru reveals the big secret to Akira. I read them anyway because I'm bound to let go of my own biases someday... But since I myself can't figure out how I personally would want Hikaru to expose Sai's existence (or lack thereof, considering), I asked myself: Okay, Hikaru keeps his secret forever, but then what?

Anyway, (completely unrelated to why I was inspired but "anyway" is good enough segue for me (and thank you forever, _kireira_, for ending my agony over not knowing how that word was spelled)), somehow, the lyrics fit perfectly to Hikaru and Sai and _Hikaru no Go_: Galaxies, thousands of years, mysteries, endlessness… It's all about Go!

I tried to catch all my errors and followed through with some suggestions in this round of editing. Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed already. If I somehow missed replying to your review, I'm sorry - it wasn't intentional! And thanks to all future readers too.

**Edited: **11/01/2006


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